


Try

by teddysheeranfics



Category: Ed Sheeran (Musician)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Family Drama, Romance, Small Bump (song)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2742782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddysheeranfics/pseuds/teddysheeranfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Ed wants is to start a family, and for some reason, it isn't as easy as it may have seemed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try

Ed’s POV:

 

Everything looks easy in films and on TV, especially conceiving a child. You and I, that’s all we wanted; to be parents. The day I proposed to you we talked about starting a family. We tried for months to conceive, and it was exhausting, to say the very least. Months of fertility and thousands of dollars later, we received the good news in the form of one very simple word; pregnant.You took three tests. You sat on the edge of the bathtub and bit your lip. I paced the bathroom. 

“Okay,” you said, “you ready?”

You stood and went to the sink where the results were waiting to be read. I shook my head no, I wasn’t ready; within the next few seconds my life could change completely. I took a deep breath and you picked up the first one. I closed my eyes before I could see your reaction.

“I can’t look,” I said, feeling my stomach flip.

After a break of silence, I heard you shuffle closer to me. 

“Ed,” you said, and I opened my eyes.

Your eyes misted over, a smile spreading evenly across your lips. 

“I’m pregnant.”

You showed me all three. Clear as day, the word ‘pregnant’ appeared in each of their windows, and I cried. I covered my face in my hands, letting the tears fall down my cheeks. I wiped my eyes and grabbed you, wrapping my arms tightly around your body, kissing the top of your head over and over.

After we visited the doctor and saw the sonogram, we knew it was official. The peanut sized sac in your belly was our baby, an even mix of you and me. I prayed he or she would have your big beautiful brown eyes. You hoped the baby would inherit the dimple in my chin.

That first official day, I curled up next to you in bed where you were resting. I lifted your shirt and kissed your belly.

“I can’t wait to meet you,” I whispered, and you ran your hand through my hair.

At the two month mark, we couldn’t hold it in any longer and told our family and friends. My mother couldn’t hold back the tears or the yelp of excitement as she hugged us both. My father congratulated me with a slap on the shoulder before he kissed and ruffled my hair. With tears in his eyes he told me I’d be an amazing father. I said if I did, it’s because I learned from the best.

At the three month mark, we started planning out the nursery. You wanted to start decorating straight away, but I said we should wait until we found out if it was a boy or a girl. You still picked out colors for each; lavender and white for a girl, orange and blue for a boy. 

At thirteen weeks, your belly started to show the tiniest bump. You swore it wasn’t there, but I could tell it was. You would fall asleep to me caressing your soft belly, while I hummed a tune to our unborn baby. We started taking a photo every day to mark the progress. I posted it to my Instagram, and you laughed when my fans flooded the comments.

At fourteen weeks, we decided on names. If it was a boy we’d call him Jasper Ryan, because I liked the name Jasper, and you liked the name Ryan. And if it was girl we chose Hailey Madison, because you liked the name Hailey and I liked the name Madison. You got a pink shirt for the baby that said ‘my dad’s a rockstar’, and I laughed and said you should find an orange one that said ‘my dad’s a pale ginger’. You slapped my arm and kissed me.

I held your hair back at week fifteen while you tossed up your breakfast, and again when you couldn’t keep down your lunch. You cried on the bathroom floor and I cradled you in my arms and kissed your face. My thumbs erased your tears as I kissed your mouth. You laughed when I grimaced at the taste on your tongue, but I didn’t care; I loved you too much. I cleaned you up and you kissed me again, taking me to our bedroom. We were both huddled close to each other, naked under the sheets and I traced circles on your belly. I kissed the bumps that rose on your skin when I made you shiver. You ran your fingers across my tattoos, saying I should get one for the baby. Our fingers laced and I kissed your knuckles. Gently, you climbed on top of me. I couldn’t help but worry that we would hurt the baby. You laughed and told me not to flatter myself. 

By the sixteenth week, you weren’t getting sick as much anymore, and your belly was starting to swell a little more. I grabbed my phone the second we both opened our eyes. You yawned as you lifted your shirt, telling me to hurry up. I kneeled beside you, pressing my lips to the side of your belly and took the photo. You laughed when the stubble on my face scratched your skin. You rested your head on my shoulder as I uploaded the photo. My orange hair was flat and messy and your belly protruded the smallest bit. I captioned it as ‘my one and only xxx.’ You laughed as every comment consisted of crying emoji icons.

At seventeen weeks you bought a baby book called “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” and we flipped through it together. I cringed at the details of the birth and you laughed when I had to leave the room to dry heave in the bathroom. That night you went to bed early while I stayed up writing a song for our unborn baby. My eyes misted over as I wrote about tiny fingers and little toes, imagining the day our baby would be in our arms. You woke up in the middle of the night and found me asleep in the living room, a pen in my right hand, the song lyrics on my lap and the baby book across my chest. I know because you took a picture of me on my phone and put it on my Instagram. You captioned it ‘Ed Sheeran will be the best daddy in the world.’ It has the most likes I’ve ever gotten on any photo.

On the third day of that seventeenth week, our lives changed. I woke up abruptly to the sound of you crying at three in the morning. I registered the panic in your voice as you called my name and I shot up in bed. You were covered in sweat and the sheets below you were painted red. Wearing nothing but my boxers I jumped out of bed and carried you to the car. Your body shook as you cried, and I kissed your face, promising you that everything would be alright. You cried out in agony as we drove. I laced my fingers with yours, feeling my eyes burn with tears.

“Hold on, baby, we’re almost there,” I said, my voice shaking nearly as much as my hand.

I pulled to the front of the hospital, leaving the car and taking you in my arms. 

“You’re okay,” I said, “I promise everything will be okay.”

I didn’t care that I was in nothing but my underwear. You were admitted straight away and a nurse gave me a gown to cover up in. I pleaded with her to let me see you, but I was told to wait in the corridor. 

At seventeen weeks I sat alone, cradling my head in my hands.

At seventeen weeks I broke a promise by saying everything would be okay.

At seventeen weeks, we went into the hospital as a family of three, and left as a family of two.

A week after we lost our baby, we had to tell everyone, and that was the hardest part for you. During the next few months, we started drifting apart; you wouldn’t speak to me, and I drowned my agony in alcohol. 

One night, I stumbled in at two in the morning, waking you up. You asked if I was okay and I laughed at you. I was too drunk to see the tears falling from your eyes and the amount of pain on your face. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said. “I can’t stand watching my husband kill himself.”

I stumbled and fell, hard. I was sat there on the living room floor, looking up at you.

“It hurts,” I said loudly, aiming a finger at your face, “and you don’t understand.”

I regretted it the moment I said it. You shouted at me and called me selfish, and I knew I deserved it. I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve put your feelings first. I should’ve realized that you lost a baby, too.

“I need you, Ed, can’t you see that?” you shouted, cheeks glistening with tears.

I buried my face in my hands, too drunk to stand.

“I shouldn’t have to do this alone! I need you,” you said, and I lost it. I bawled my eyes out like a fucking child.

“It isn’t fair!” I screamed, my palms pressing into my eyes, voice cracking with tears. “I want my baby back.”

“It was my baby too, Ed!” You screamed back, “Stop acting as if you were the only one who lost a child!”

I angrily pushed to my feet.

“You don’t even care-“

You cut me off with the sting of your palm, sending me stumbling over my feet.

“You selfish prick!” you shouted, just before you shoved me backward into the wall.

At what would’ve been thirty one weeks, we were different. I drank and you cried. You screamed and I threw furniture. I found the song I wrote for our baby between the pages of the book you bought. I read it over and over before I grabbed a pen and added two heart-wrenching sentences to the end. I let you read what I’d written the night you took the photo of me, asleep with it on my lap, but when you saw me with it while I sat on the floor, you took it from my hands. You smiled as you read it and I studied your face. A painful sigh came from your throat as you threw your arms around my neck and sobbed, all because I changed the ending.

I promised I would stop drinking, and you promised that you would stop crying. 

At what would’ve been the baby’s due date, we decided to try again.


End file.
